Spies, Lies, and Motorcycles
by themyscira
Summary: After hanging up the cape, Tim Drake becomes a brand new recruit for a secret government agency. He's on first big case, to infiltrate a meeting held by drug-lords from all over the world, find out their plans and stop them before it's too late. Due to unlikely circumstances, he ends up meeting the one person that can help him on his mission, Stephanie Brown.


**Apologizing ahead of time for grammar/spelling mistakes!**

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Tim sat on a bench with his hands on his lap. He pursed his lips and counted how many cars past him on the street. Tonight had been tiring and he felt like he'd reached the end of his rope but he refused to go home.

He had less than an hour to infiltrate a club on the streets below. Underground clubbing in Gotham was the latest sensation. Abandoned sewers were turned into party zones with elaborate light systems and loud music. From unruly teenager seeking thrills to crime bosses took to them night after night. They were the place for all sorts of crimes, from a drug dealing to murder.

Tim was supposed to go to a party tonight, it was his mission as a new recruit. He ran his hand over his arm; he was a spy, Tim Drake … a spy. In a way it made him laugh, spies were for movies and novels, but he'd worked hard for such a romanticized, and what felt like a heavily fictionalized (in his mind) title. It was real; it was his job. The problem was, he was still a rookie.

With all his plans and all his investigation he had yet to find the exact party where a critical meeting would take place. Drug lords from all over the world were coming to meet tonight somewhere in the hidden rooms of the sewers. He knew it was below, he knew it was tonight, he knew he had less than an hour, less than forty minutes at this rate.

He groaned, he wasn't even supposed to be on the case. He'd fought for it and even then, they gave it to him as a joke. Tim was new, he'd hardly been certified for more than a month and he was younger than all the other recruits; still technically a teen. Some joked he was a prodigy and mocked his intelligence; others said it was his connections with Bruce Wayne that got him the position. In some ways they were right, but above all else, he knew he'd earned it, that is until now. Others were assigned to the cast too, more experienced spies with years on the job.

But they also wouldn't listen.

He showed them his evidence and they waved him off, they had intelligence coming in from real radio scans, and the like. Tim couldn't very well tell them he had far superior technology thanks to Bruce, it would only fuel the idea that he didn't deserve to be a spy, that and they'd question what Bruce Wayne was doing with that kind of technology. He also couldn't tell them he was smarter than the lot of them without stepping on toes, although he thought, in his anger, he was much smarter having put years' old clues together in a matter of days.

Tim groaned again, "There has to be something I'm missing." Tim got off the bench. He'd gone through the blueprints over and over, but perhaps…there were sewers he couldn't find. Possibly new ones built that wouldn't be written down anywhere. It was his last hope, and if his theory was true, it would require a lot of talking to find it. He crossed his fingers and hoped he's run into someone he could trick to tell him the information he needed. If the club was a secret, it was for the elite and the elite didn't like to share. But, Tim had spent a good deal of time at cocktail parties with the richest in the world; he'd also beaten the scrum of the earth in his costumed days and knew how criminals thought. He was stuck but he refused to be for long.

Tim spotted a group of teenagers across the street; they were dressed like punks but fashionable punks as if they'd carefully constructed the persona of a hooligan like a fad. He smiled, "I'll start with them."

Tim started to cross the street when he heard the sound of a motor, one going too fast to stop. He looked sideways and saw light. He didn't have time to run back or forward, or perhaps he did, but he didn't think. He only reacted on his instincts and put a hand on the motorcycle that was about to run him over; he pushed against it and flipped himself over.

He'd miscalculated and his body hit the backend of the motorcycle just before he crashed onto the street. His chest hurt, his face was scratched, but he was otherwise okay.

He barely had time to get up when he heard the engine again. He jumped up, he'd been warned about attacks, he knew his life was in danger, it wasn't much different from his old job, but still, he hadn't expected something like this.

He started to run to the sidewalk when he heard someone cry out; he stopped.

"Are you okay!" It was a woman's voice, he turned around and saw her; she had motorcycle helmet in her hand.

"I'm fine." Tim said calmly. He wasn't fine, he was sure he'd cracked some ribs but knew a visit to the hospital was out of the question.

"You winced," She said accusingly.

Tim waved his hand, "No, I've been hit before." He wasn't lying.

At that she let out a strangled sigh and pushed back her short blonde hair, it had been pressed against her forehead from the helmet, "Oh man, don't say that. I hit a guy a few months ago."

Tim suppressed a laugh; the way she spoke was loud, charismatic, comical and endearing. It was refreshing given he'd had such a frustrating night.

"Don't worry it was a few years back," Tim hadn't thought of it in years, and now wasn't the time to tell a story. If the conversation didn't have to do with a secret club he shouldn't be talking. Still, he thought back to that day, it was during his time as Robin, his early years when he'd just donned the mask and cape. Someone on a motorbike not much older than him had nearly killed him when he was chasing a crook. He'd had a broken arm from that.

The girl bit her lip and let out a nervous laugh, "Wasn't a…motorbike was it?" At that Tim raised an eyebrow. He didn't answer her, if he did, she'd know who he was, that is if she remembered the boy she nearly hit back then was wearing a costume. Instead he smiled at her, a genuine smile given this woman had nearly hit him twice, supposedly, and the statistics of it were so low that if he didn't know any better, he'd call it fate.

"You're very accident prone." He was about to add, "but cute." He stopped himself, partly because he hardly knew her, partly because he had a mission to get to.

"I like to think of it more like the world ceases to pay attention when I'm around cause that I'm that interesting," she smiled slyly, "hence all the havoc that follows me." She twirled her hands in the air, "Either that or I really suck at paying attention." She smirked and Tim smiled.

He almost wanted to stay, but it was nearly midnight and he had work to do, "It was nice meeting you…"

"Stephanie, and you're?"

He hesitated, he wanted to tell her Tim; she wasn't part of the job anyway. But he had an alias for a reason. "Alvin."

"Hmm, an Alvin? Geeky enough to fit but it doesn't quite fit the whole serious thing you've got going on." She mimicked his expression and he laughed again. It felt wrong to laugh at a time like this.

"I've got to get to work, that's all."

"This late?"

Tim's mind raced, he tried to think of a good excuse. His first thought was bouncer but she'd know he was lying, even if he could deliver the lie perfectly his physique was far from that of a club bouncer. Just about every other job was questionable at this time of night, at least in Gotham. That only left convenience stores open late but given that he was dressed for a club he doubted she'd believe that either.

"Yes." He said it softly.

He was surprised when she replied enthusiastically with, "Me too! I work as a bouncer in a club below, super late, though because my mom wouldn't let me out of the house until I'd put the dishes away, then I broke a dish…what?"

Tim looked her up and down. She wasn't tall, about 5'4 in height. She was covered by her jeans and purple jacket, he wasn't sure if she had the muscles to fight. She didn't seem intimating at all, what with her bright blue eyes, far more welcoming than they ever were scary.

"You're a bouncer?"

She laughed, "No, did you actually believe me? I must be getting good at lying. Nah, I'm more of a cleaning lady, still work for a club though, saving up for college." It was as if a light bulb, or rather an explosion, had gone off in her head, "I'm so getting fired if I don't show up soon," She started to walk back to her motorcycle when she had another thought, "Need a ride?"

Tim didn't know what to say, what were the odds, he thought, that she worked for the club he needed to find, "Where do you work?"

"I can drop you off if it's in that direction," She pointed forward, "So don't worry about where."

"It's just…" Tim put his hands in his pocket, he didn't want to lie to her, but he didn't have time to think the truth, and if he did tell her he could put her in danger, "I'm suppose to meet someone."

"Oh." Stephanie bit her cheek and nodded, "I see."

Tim shook his head, "Not like that! I…" If he had more time he'd come up with something good, something believable, but he didn't and therefore, he had to wing it, "You're going to think I'm an idiot but I'm in a rush so here goes. I was suppose to meet someone for a job and they gave me directions to a club in the sewers, but I lost the directions and I've been wandering around the city for hours." Tim spoke quickly to make himself sound panicked and out of breath.

He thought she'd buy it, it was certainly plausible, and just vague enough that he could add more details if she felt the need to ask.

"Oh so you're a hoodlum!" Her tone was light.

"Hoodlum?" Tim thought he was the farthest thing from a hoodlum and he hadn't heard anyone use that word, not outside of old sitcoms.

"Yeah, I've grown up in the worser parts of Gotham, and that's saying something. Used to hang out with the punks and get into all sorts of things, but not anymore." She smiled at him, "Not drugs or that kind of stuff, just shenanigans that get the cops on your case."

He didn't know what to say so she pushed his shoulder gently and laughed, "Relax, I don't know you. I'm not judging." And then, with an edge of sternness, she added, "But I can't afford to get into any more trouble, I promised my mom."

Tim finally understood what she meant and shook his head again, "It's not that kind of job." For all his training and all his planning Tim never felt more like a rookie than he did know. He'd talked to plenty of people and he'd always managed to talk smoothly, with confidence. Now he felt like an idiot for not explaining himself better, for losing patience, for giving in to her charm that left him very, very confused.

"What kind of job?" She'd walked all the way to her motorcycle and sat on it while Tim stood next to her. From the look in her eyes he could tell she was trying to flirt and that made him more confused.

Tim took a deep breath, he refused to lose his calm, "The kind of job that needs to stay a secret." He said simply.

"And what's the club called."

"I don't know." His tone was cool, relaxed.

She chuckled, "Nervous one second, James Bond the next, definitely a man of mystery."

He smiled again and wondered how many times she'd made him smile in the past few minutes, "Where are you headed?"

"Possibly to a club a lot of people don't know exists," She paused and waited for him to take in what she'd said. Tim realized she knew much more than she'd let on. All this time he was trying to figure out how to lie to her and she'd been figuring out how to study him, or perhaps, she was just savvier about the city than he'd ever be.

"What club is that?"

"Maybe it doesn't have a name, but I guess that's the one you want, hop on." She slipped on her helmet and he asked her if she had another.

"Sadly I don't, but you survived my driving before so I think you'll be okay, as okay as a hoodlum can be." She laughed just before she revved up the engine and he wrapped his arms around her waist. She smelled like syrup, scented soap and oil. He liked it.

She drove fast through the streets and her turns were so unpredictable that Tim couldn't figure out where they were in the city. He wanted to remember every turn she made, everything he saw to go back if he needed to but it was impossible. He couldn't see anything but blurs.

It only took about ten or 15 minutes before they'd stopped in a dark alleyway. There was no around but them.

"Pretty sure this is what you're looking for." She pointed to the manhole cover, "If you go down the ladder you'll meet up with some bouncers, they'll ask you for a password."

"Tonight is Brainac." Tim had heard it over some scanners, it'd taken him half an hour to decipher it was in fact a password since everything was spoken in riddles. Then he wondered why he told her, he could have just said he already knew.

She nodded, "Glad you know, cause I don't work here. Not at this club. Only the baddest of the bad come here."

"Yeah, so I hear." He wondered how she knew its location but he didn't ask.

"You should be careful," She cracked her neck and for the first time Tim saw how tired she was. From her jeans, covered in dirt and stains, he doubted this was her only job.

"I can handle it."

She let out a "pfft," "you know even I can tell you're not who you're pretending to be, it's the only reason I gave you a ride, that and you're cute, but the first part was more important 'cause cute guys can be psychotic too." She looked up as if recalling a memory than she shrugged her shoulders, "Try to stay out of trouble."

Tim smiled at her, "Without you around I think I'll be okay."

She stuck out her tongue, "I beg to differ, Alvin." Stephanie was about to slip her helmet back on when she paused and for about a minute or so, she seemed to be deep in thought. He'd seen that expression before, in the mirror when he'd been thinking too hard about something. The difference was, even in this state, her face was still kind while Tim's often became cold.

"What's on your mind?" He didn't have time to ask but he felt like he owed her. As much as he didn't want to admit she'd figured him out, not he was a spy, but that he was a good guy trying to pretend to be bad. She didn't have to say she knew, that much was obvious.

Even more so, he was grateful she didn't question him. In fact, he should have been suspicious of her, but he wasn't, not at all.

"I was just thinking, I hope I didn't make a stupid decision, I'm prone to stupid decisions."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. On the one hand I could be right, you could be…not one of them,"

"Not a hoodlum."

"Not a hoodlum, but if I figured it out, so could they. Wouldn't want to see you dead." And he knew she meant it.

"On the other hand?"

"On the other hand, I could be wrong and you could be a hoodlum and you could ruin everything."

He wanted to ask her what she meant by that, it sounded like she'd devised a plan herself. He started to think back to what she'd said about life. She had a mother, a mother she didn't want to disappoint. But she hadn't mentioned a father. Was he dead? Was he…one of them? Then he realized she looked old enough to be in college but she hadn't gone, she couldn't afford it, it was an ambition of hers that had her cleaning seedy clubs and who knows what else. If didn't know enough about her to poke holes, and despite the odd circumstances of their meeting, or second meeting it seemed, she'd been so honest with him, he didn't want to doubt her.

"You're a mystery yourself." Tim said finally, "Maybe you don't give yourself enough credit."

She smiled at him, "More like everyone else doesn't give me enough credit." She waved at him and slipped her helmet on. She was all set to turn herself around when he placed his arm on hers. He pulled her helmet off gently and slipped a piece of paper inside, he'd written his number on it. It wasn't his real number, just of one of his many disposable phones that he hadn't used yet. He made a mental note to reserve that one for her.

"If you ever need any help,"

"Yeah, you do owe me." She pulled her helmet on again and turned her engine on. She looped around and waved goodbye before disappearing around the corner.

As Tim climbed down the ladder he couldn't help but think that the woman who'd hit him twice, out of all odds a stranger hitting him twice in two locations, had been the one to lead him exactly where he needed to go. He'd given her the number as a way of saying thanks given that there wasn't anything he could do to return the favor at the moment, but he also knew a part of him really wanted to see her again.

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**I was talking to a friend about how silly the new Grayson series was and that Tim would make the better spy...and then it got into Steph and motorcycles and look a fic! **

**This was supposed to be short but...I've come to learn I always go over my intended word count. **


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